“I am not crying.”
“You have one wet eye.”
“Air conditioning.”
“Very targeted.”
I touched beneath my left eye. She was correct. I continued walking. The expo floor spread across the hall in organized rows. Vendors sold shoes, nutrition, watches, shirts, socks, recovery devices, and objects that claimed to improve circulation through vibration. A stage near the back hosted pacing seminars. Volunteers directed runners toward bib pickup by last name. Price belonged in the center row. Dani belonged three rows over. The thought arrived immediately.
I did not search for her. That was the plan. We had not spoken since her direct message confirming the race decision. Thank you for telling me directly. No further contact. Space remained. Tomorrow, we would both stand somewhere in the same starting system among thousands of people. That did notrequire a conversation. I repeated that internally while scanning the room without moving my head. Tessa noticed.
“You can look.”
“I am looking.”
“For her.”
“I am observing the environment.”
“Your environment has dark hair and commitment issues.”
“That is unkind.”
“It can be true and unkind.”
I picked up my bib packet. The volunteer asked for identification. I provided it. She matched my name and handed me the envelope.
“First marathon?”
“Yes.”
She smiled.
“Congratulations.”
Congratulationsaffected me. Not good luck—as though arriving at the start counted. Dani would have liked that. I put the envelope into my bag. Tessa collected safety pins from a bowl.
“You packed pins,” I said.
“Backups.”
“You criticize mine.”
“I have evolved.”
We moved toward shirt pickup. The official race shirt was gray with blue lettering. I held it against myself. Tessa frowned.
“What?”
“It’s not your color.”
“It is the official shirt.”
“You have an unofficial color.”
“I do not.”
“You wear blue in every important running photograph.”
